54 Cards
by Images of Broken Light
Summary: Existence is random. There is no pattern, save what we imagine after staring at it for too long. There is no meaning, save what we choose to impose. The way a deck of cards falls can become completely random.
1. Joker

He sat quietly in the holding cell, shuffling the deck of cards they had caught him with. Most other criminals wouldn't be allowed such a luxury but the Joker was different. The aim of the game was always keeping him happy, and then maybe you wouldn't be the unlucky one.

Time always passed slowly for those left in charge of watching him. There was the constant fear that the psychopathic criminal would attempt a breakout on their watch. This time a new recruit was given the obligation; a task he didn't take lightly. While his superiors tried as best they could to continue with their duties and paperwork, the young man fixed himself to a chair, staring intently at the man behind the bars of the cell. All going well, the Joker would be transferred to Arkham Asylum in the morning.

Over the course of the night, the MCU slowly began to empty, until it was just the recruit and the Joker, sitting opposite one another, separated only by the metal bars.

The Joker cleared his throat.

The recruit started at the sudden noise. He looked around the room, hoping that someone else had arrived. He looked back and saw the Joker sitting silently on the wooden bench, calmly shuffling his cards. He swallowed nervously and stood up to get a cup of coffee. The Joker chuckled. The rustle as he flicked the cards together was beginning to annoy the recruit. "Would you stop that?"

The Joker ignored him, fanning out the cards and peeking inquisitively at the order they had arranged themselves into. He smirked up at the recruit, pushed the cards back into a pile and smiled. Then he cut the deck, placed the two halves on his knee and shuffled them. The recruit watched silently as the Joker cut the deck and shuffled it another six times. Without looking at the order, he arranged the deck into a neat pile and reached into his pants pocket, drawing out another two cards. He flipped them over, showing the clowns on the cards to the recruit. Jokers. He placed one card face-down on the top of the deck and, lifting the deck, placed the last joker on the bottom.

The recruit walked back towards the holding cell, looking at his watch. Why wasn't it morning already? And where had everyone else gone? He shuddered as he realised that it was just him tonight. The Joker watched all this with amusement.

There was a noise and the recruit turned, looking for the source. In an instant, the Joker reached through the bars and grabbed his gun, pulling him backwards and wrapping his arm around the young man's neck. Turning off the safety, he put the barrel to the back of the recruit's head and squeezed on the trigger. There was an explosion of brain, blood and bone and the recruit crumpled. The Joker let go of him and let him fall to the floor, tasting blood as he licked his lips.

Reaching through the bars to the recruit's belt, he grabbed the keys and, carefully picking up his deck of cards; he unlocked the cell and let himself out. Walking over to where they had left his coat and his knives, the Joker slipped the gun into a pocket, deciding to keep it for later use. Before he left, he picked the top card off the deck and placed it gently over the recruit's eyes.

The joker card was still there when the next shift arrived in an hour's time.


	2. King of Spades

The assistant District Attorney ignored the press and cameras as he strode into the building. After months of chasing the Joker, they finally get him locked up and he manages to escape, blowing the brains out of some new recruit's head in the process. He let out a dark chuckle. Recruitment for the police force would definitely fall after _that_ one.

One determined reporter managed to make her way inside the doors, following him to the elevators. "Mr White," she said breathlessly. "Mr White. Do you have a comment on the Joker's escape?" He turned around and she shoved a microphone into his face. "Come on Mr White," she said, smiling and panting. "Just a little something for today's newspapers. Something about the loss of a promising new recruit at the hands of a criminal that the city will recapture at all costs?" She suggested with a wink.

He jabbed at the elevator button before looking at her again. "You want a statement?" He said, trying to bite back his annoyance. "Go to hell. A man is _dead_ and you vultures have to chase me around. Just go to hell."

A blessed release came as the elevator doors opened, allowing him to leave her standing in the lobby with that bloody microphone. Frustrated, he pressed the 'close doors' button repeatedly. Today was not a good day to be a public servant in Gotham.

He studied his appearance in the elevator's reflective doors. Not bad if he did say so himself. Smoothing back his hair, he glanced at his watch. Ten minutes until his meeting. The Mayor, Commissioner Gordon, the District Attorney in a meeting that was sure to be pure hell. The Mayor blaming everyone bar himself; Gordon denying responsibility for leaving a new cop in charge of the Joker (which he probably wasn't responsible for anyway); and the D.A. telling everyone what he thought should be done while not actually making any plans himself.

Another glance at his watch. There was still time. He'd go to his office first. Maybe have a stiff drink. Oh what the hell, he thought as the elevator doors opened. If there was enough time, he'd have two.

The hallway to his office was long, narrow and quite isolated; the only thing to look at being names on office doors. Still, despite the lifelessness of the hallway, he got the uneasy feeling that someone was watching him. Hell, he thought. It was probably just nerves. The Joker had broken out; everyone in Gotham was probably getting this feeling.

His office door glided smoothly open as he entered. Without looking back, he pushed it closed behind him and headed for his desk in search for his bottle of scotch.

"_Tough_ day at the office?

He froze at the voice, bent over the desk in the process our pouring himself a glass. Gulping, he poured double the amount he originally intended to pour and straightened up, clutching the glass in his trembling hands.

"In_ter_esting," the Joker drawled, lingering over the different syllables. "_Very_ interesting."

His hands trembled as he raised the glass to his lips. He absolutely refused to turn around until he had a stiff drink inside him. It was a matter of principle. His hands were considerably less twitchy when he set his half-empty glass back down on the desk. Before he could turn around, a purple leather glove clamped down over his mouth and an excruciating pain overcame his senses.

The Joker pressed up against the assistant D.A.'s back, pushing the knife blade in to the hilt. He could feel the blood seeping through his clothes and he could hear the man's muffled screams. He leant his head closer to the assistant's ear and smiled. "How does i_t_ _feel_, to know you came _this close_," he slowly withdrew the blade and stabbed it back into a higher part of his back. "And ye_t_ you _still_ couldn't ge_t_ me?"

Slowly, the Joker withdrew the blade once more and stabbed it into the side of his neck. Blood cascaded down his body and his screams intensified. The Joker cackled as the assistant bit down on his gloved hand in a desperate attempt to make him remove it. In a hacking motion, he worked the knife blade through the man's neck almost severing the head. Blood was everywhere now, covering the assistant, the Joker, the desk and dripping into the glass of scotch. As the man's thrashing motions ceased the Joker released his grip, allowing him to fall to the floor.

Next to the glass of scotch and blood the Joker dropped the top playing card from the deck before leaving the room. The blood on the desk slowly seeped into the card, turning the King of Spades red.


	3. Six of Clubs

Like all buildings of Gotham, the City Hall came with a back door which led to an alleyway, down which the Joker was strolling, covered in the assistant District Attorney's blood. Some of it had seeped into his left shoe which made an irritating soggy noise every time he took a step and left a trail of bloody footprints stretching back to the door. He looked up at the sky; it was still early. There was an annoying cooing of a pigeon somewhere to his right but he resisted the urge to silence it; there was important work to be done.

He glanced down at his clothes. He had to get changed before he did much else; blood seemed to be quite unbecoming to him, especially other people's. Withdrawing the deck, he flicked the top card off, glanced at it and placed it carefully back on the top before gently placing the deck back in his pocket. A number would be far easier to find than a picture would be.

A female cry for help drifted down the alley. Mildly curious, the Joker ambled towards the noise, enjoying the sound of her cries for mercy. He rounded a corner and saw them; a burly man with a shaved head and tattoos as far as the eye could see towering over a small mousey woman with a bloody face cowering on the ground. He casually leant against the wall and watched with amusement as the man raped and then killed her. It wasn't until he was going through her purse that he noticed the Joker standing there at all.

"Shit man! How long've you been there?" He urgently whispered, fear in his eyes.

The Joker sucked his teeth as he began to walk towards the thug. "Long enough," he said, pulling his knife out of his pocket as he approached. "I saw it _all_. And, you _see_," he paused as he watched in detached amusement as the thug begin to back away from him. "It wasn't very… _friendly_, what you just did the_n_."

For some reason, the thug had not thought to run, but was instead trying to argue his way out of his current predicament. "Hey, come on. The bitch had it comin', look at her."

"No," the Joker drawled, shaking his head slowly. "Loo_k_, here's a lesson." At that point, the thug had decided to run for it. The Joker grinned, withdrawing the recruit's gun from his pocket, shooting the thug in the leg. He came down with a crash and a scream and, before he knew it, the Joker had straddled him, the blade of his knife stuck into the corner of the thug's mouth. "Now," he continued as if he had not been interrupted, "_Harvey_ Den_t_, had it coming. He was _too good_. Rachel _Dawes_," he pouted, looking to the end of the alley. "_She_ deserved it. She was _irritating_ and _tried_ to _stop_ me," he said, carefully enunciating every word. "The mouse?" He pointed over at the dead woman with his free hand. "She _didn't_."

The thug mumbled something through the blade, completely incomprehensible but it didn't stop his talking. The Joker ignored it.

"What about _you_ though?" He mused aloud. "Do _you_ deserve it?" He smiled, drawing the blade through the thug's cheek, listening to his screams with ecstasy. He lifted the blade and brought it down through his throat. He leant forwards, staring into the thug's eyes. "You _deserved_ that," he said solemnly.

With a jump, the Joker got off the thug and took a few steps backwards, withdrawing the deck of cards from his pocket. With a flick, he picked up the top card and threw it down towards the thug's unmoving hand. The thug's fingers tightened around the Six of Clubs as the Joker strolled away with a bounce in his step.


	4. Ace of Diamonds

She didn't know why her husband insisted on her always taking a taxi to his office. It was such a lovely morning and the streets weren't very crowded. And it wasn't very far for her to walk anyway.

There were dozens of patrol cars and an ambulance or two parked haphazardly all over the road in front of the MCU. However, the thing that stuck most in her mind was the swarm of reporters, all eager for the story or a photograph. She felt saddened looking upon the scene. She had been in Gotham long enough to know that when there are that many official cars and that many reporters and photographers, something quite drastic had happened there.

Several blocks away from the MCU, she saw something that made her stop dead in her tracks. She was the only one on the street, except for one man who was covered in blood. She made her way towards him and noticed that he had left bloody footprints on the concrete. Empathy for the unknown man gave her the desire to move faster, especially when she saw the extent to which he was covered in blood.

Approaching him cautiously, she began to have second thoughts as she saw his off-colour hair and recognised his unusually coloured suit. Before she was given a chance to make up her mind and re-evaluate her decision, he turned and she was reduced to a slack-jawed fool as she stared at the infamous scars covered in red paint. Then it all suddenly clicked; the crowd in front of the MCU, the blood on the sidewalk, the deserted streets. She understood what had happened.

Regaining her senses, she turned away from him and began to run, summoning the strength to scream. Before she had taken a dozen steps, she was on the ground, pinned down by his weight. She began to scream just as his gloved hand clamped down over her mouth. Unable to make a sound, she nervously swallowed, tasting blood of an unknown origin as she did so.

He straddled her, searching through his pockets for his knife as he kept his hand over her mouth. He had left the thug and his victim on the streets a few blocks away and had headed back towards his apartment. This woman had surprised him; he wasn't expecting to see anyone else this morning. But no matter; she would suit, he thought as he located the knife out and bent down over her back. Bringing the knife out of his pocket, he got off her and pulled her roughly to her feet, keeping his hand over her mouth and putting the knife to her neck. "Come on," he muttered as he pulled her towards the alleyway he had just come from.

She struggled all the way there, losing her handbag and one of her shoes along the way. Annoyed, the Joker pushed her to the ground then straddled her again, rolling her over onto her back. He clamped his hand back over her mouth and pinned her arms beneath his knees while he stared at her, his tongue running along the scars on his lower lip. Trophy wife, he thought. He could tell from the blonde hair and obscene amounts of makeup. Not to mention the impractical getup she was wearing.

Slowly he brought the knife down in front of her face, watching her pupils dilate with fear. Her sudden appearance had annoyed him, she had almost ruined everything. The Joker was determined to make her pay.

He moved the blade away from her face, watching in amusement as she strained to see where it went. Then he suddenly plunged it into her chest, smiling as the blood began to flow from the wound. Behind his hand, he could feel her attempts to call for help. Withdrawing the blade from her body, he leant forward and wiped the blood on her hair, cooing all the while in a mock attempt to soothe her.

He stopped the cooing with a smile, moving the blade back out of her field of vision. With chaotic glee he stabbed the knife through her throat, blinking as blood sprayed back at him. He removed his hand and she gurgled incomprehensively as blood flowed smoothly down her neck and onto the concrete footpath beneath.

Again, he removed the blade and brought it back to her face. Prying open her lips, he slipped the blade in and moved it to the corner of her mouth. She gurgled and her eyes went wide. In a smooth motion, he brought the blade to rest half way between her ear and her now mutilated mouth. Smiling cheerfully at her, he brought the blade back to the other side of her mouth and repeated the motion, enjoying the contrast between her pale cheeks and the scarlet blood that was pouring out over her face.

Standing up, he took a few steps backwards and watched as she bled out. The blood formed a red sea around her, framing her motionless form. The Joker walked gingerly towards her, withdrawing his deck of cards as he did so. Withdrawing the top card with a flick, he laid the Ace of Diamonds over her abdomen.


	5. Three of Diamonds

There's an old bar on the outskirts of Old Gotham that fills every night with the faceless scum of Gotham's underbelly. They move as a mass towards the dirty, understaffed bar, drinking themselves into oblivion. Sitting round the corner from Arkham Asylum, it attracts a surprising number of ex-inmates, who tend to end up off their face and in the employ of a Gotham Kingpin.

This is where the Joker is headed next.

Inside, the air is thick with smoke. No one looks up when the Joker enters. He stands at the door for a long while; just watching. No one says anything. Rats aren't welcome here.

There's one man who stands out tonight. He's standing at the bar, a beer in one hand and a wad of bills in the other, telling anyone near enough how _lucky_ he is. "Look," he slurs, shaking the bills at a man drowning himself in his drink. "Maroni. 'e's a good guy." He puts down his beer and makes a gun with his spare hand. "One lil hit, and tha's it. He gives me a _pile_ of cash ta keep my mouth shut." He realises what he just said. "Oh, don't tell nobody I told ya."

The Joker reaches into his pocket and pulls out the top card. Glancing at it, he smiles and walks towards the inebriated man. It takes the man a few minutes to realise there's someone behind him. He turns around and stands dumbly in front of the Joker, mouth rapidly opening and closing as he tries to make sense of what's happening. The Joker pulls the top card back out of his pocket and slides it into the man's hand before turning around and walking out the back door.

He turns when he hears the heavy door opening. The man is standing there, holding out the card. "Didja want somethin'?" He mumbles, offering him the card. "Cause I'm real good when it comes ta jobs and stuff."

"Oh no. No, no, no, no, no," the Joker whispers, fingering the knife in his pocket. He gestures for the man to move away from the door, which he does in an instant. "I _wan_t you..." The Joker grabs the back of the man's neck and pulls him closer; impaling him on the knife he holds in his other hand. He moves his hand from the man's neck to his mouth, covering it as he pushes him backwards until he slams into the brick wall beside the door, the Joker's weight pinning him in place. "To keep _quiet_."

The man gurgles and blood runs from beneath the Joker's glove. He doesn't try to say anything as the Joker pulls the blade up through his torso, stopping at his collarbones. There are wet splats on the concrete below as the blood begins to flow in earnest. The Joker smiles and steps back, removing his hand from the man's mouth and his knife from the man's neck.

He watches silently as the man stands for a moment, swaying slightly on unsteady legs. As the man begins to slide down the brick wall, he turns away, walking slowly down the dark alleyway, his footsteps resonating off the buildings surrounding him.

The police would find the body in the morning while chasing down a drug dealer. They'll assume it's just one more example of Gotham's gang violence; until they see the Three of Diamonds, still clutched tightly in the dead man's hand.


	6. Nine of Hearts

Gotham only shows her true colours at night; when darkness falls and the criminals, scum and whores come crawling out of the woodwork, looking to make the fortune they'll never get. Young women, some more girl that woman, line the streets, bending down to lean in the open windows of cars stopped to examine their goods.

There's a girl, probably no older than 14 or 15. She stands on the corner, shivering in fishnet stockings and a black leotard that emphasises her growing chest. She knows someone's watching her; she can feel his eyes on the back of her head. But that's usually how it starts; glances from afar until they decide whether or not to employ her services.

A small black car rolls slowly down the street. The headlights are off and the windows are tinted. It's next to impossible to see who's in there, but it doesn't matter. It doesn't change how any of them act.

Goosebumps creep up her arms and she rubs them against the night air. It's not that cold and she doesn't feel it. It's the feeling of unwanted attention. The feeling that she's long since learnt to ignore.

A siren wails, getting louder and louder until two police cars appear at the end of the street, racing towards the intersection. The girls scatter at the sound, getting into cars, running down alleyways and into bars until she's the last one standing. The small black car has vanished, speeding off at the first sign of trouble. She turns and runs down the street, towards the cars, smiling just a little as they pass her, turn a corner and speed down a side street and out of sight.

There's a loud crack that cuts the night air. She stops and there's another, followed by a sticky warmth flooding her chest. She stares down at herself in disbelief, watching as the blood starts to soak through her leotard. Her fingertips brush the black material before she pulls them away again and stares at the red stain on her hand. It's funny; it doesn't hurt at all. She sinks to her knees on the pavement. Maybe she's just too high.

She's lying face down on the pavement when the Joker approaches her. He kicks her, and when she doesn't move, he rolls her over with his foot. Her eyes are closed and there's a faint smile on her face. The blood has completely soaked her leotard and stained the concrete below her. He kneels down and pulls the top card from his pocket, sliding it into her slight cleavage. He stands back up and walks away as the blood starts to seep into the Nine of Hearts.


End file.
